


Letter From a Corpse

by MagicMagpie



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: And by soft I mean their feelings are soft, And how that would affect him during third sem, Angst, Hopeful Ending, I just wanted to write about Goro loving Akira, It's sad for most of it but it does get lighter at the end, Letters, Love Confessions, M/M, Morgana's there too but only briefly, Not Beta Read, P5R Spoilers, also i don't know how to tag this, persona 5 royal spoilers, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27343474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicMagpie/pseuds/MagicMagpie
Summary: “We have to win this, no matter what.”Akira stared at Akechi’s retreating back, at his carefully-styled brown hair he knew was soft and fluffy from that time in the café – was that just a few months ago? It felt like years – and fought not to cry. Akechi was slipping through his fingers once again and Akira was letting him – but that was a good thing, he’d chosen to let Akechi go. This was his choice.His lower lip trembled.“Oh, before I go,” Akechi said, turning to face him (it took all his willpower to keep his composure), “I have something to give you.”It's the second of February, and their final night together. Akechi gives Akira a letter.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 201





	Letter From a Corpse

“We have to win this, no matter what.”

Akira stared at Akechi’s retreating back, at his carefully-styled brown hair he knew was soft and fluffy from that time in the café – was that just a few months ago? It felt like years – and fought not to cry. Akechi was slipping through his fingers once again and Akira was _letting_ him – but that was a good thing, he’d _chosen_ to let Akechi go. This was _his_ choice.  
  
His lower lip trembled.  
  
“Oh, before I go,” Akechi said, turning to face him (it took all his willpower to keep his composure), “I have something to give you.”  
  
Akechi came up to him and pulled out a letter, not a crease in sight. He pressed it into Akira’s hand, his leather glove brushing against his skin and Akira wanted to chase the feeling but it ended before it even began. Akira examined the letter. It had no address, but written in Akechi’s familiar handwriting was his own name.  
  
Akira loved how his name looked when Akechi wrote it.  
  
“I... would like you to read this,” Akechi said, and his words were laced with a nervousness that he’d never heard spill from his lips before. Akira looked up to meet his gaze but Akechi averted his, tucking his hair behind his ear. Curious, Akira made to open it but Akechi looked at him sharply, lips forming a frown.  
  
“ _Don’t open it_ ,” he said fiercely, and Akira must have looked quizzical because he then gave a sigh and elaborated. “Not now. Read it when we return to the true reality. And... by yourself.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
A flicker of something crossed his face, but he settled with averting his gaze once more.  
  
“That’s not important right now.”  
  
Akira frowned. “But you’ll be...”  
  
“Dead by the time you read it? That’s the plan.”  
  
He didn’t want this. Whatever was in this letter, he wanted to be able to discuss it with Akechi afterwards. This wasn’t _fair_.  
  
“Akira...” Akechi’s thumb wiped Akira’s cheek, surprisingly gentle. He couldn’t help but lean into the touch.  
  
“Please, Akira.”  
  
He closed his eyes, and nodded. He’d already heeded Akechi’s wishes and rejected Maruki’s world. What was one more promise between them?  
  
Akechi left shortly afterwards.  
  
Akira fell asleep at the booth.

* * *

He was home.  
  
The attic had never looked so welcoming, its cluttered shelves and star stickers overhead so different from the cold, grey walls of prison. _Sojiro must’ve kept this place clean_ , he thought fondly as he looked around, noting the distinct lack of dust.  
  
“You must be tired,” Morgana said as Akira all but collapsed on his bed. He jumped up and curled up next to him, tail swishing gently. “It’s been lonely without you, you know.”  
  
Akira smiled, scratching Morgana behind the ears the way he liked it.  
  
“Missed me that much, huh?”  
  
“Of course!” He said, forgetting to keep up his tsundere act. “I slept at Boss’ house mostly, but it’s different.”  
  
“I get you, don’t worry,” Akira assured. Morgana made a small noise of contentment.  
  
“Anyway, we should sleep, you’re probably tired after that welcoming.”  
  
“Yeah yeah, let me just change.”  
  
After a few moments he heaved himself up to change into his pyjamas, and as he pulled his shirt on he caught sight of his workbench. Or rather, the things _on_ the workbench.  
  
A single leather glove and a letter.  
  
He picked up the glove, feeling its smooth leather brush against his skin, remembering a phantom touch cup his cheek and wipe away a tear. Just two weeks ago he’d last seen Akechi, and now...  
  
He shook himself before he could go any further down that rabbit hole, and picked up the letter instead.  
  
Akechi’s handwriting was still as beautiful as he remembered it. Was that Akechi’s natural style, or had he carefully cultivated it to look pretty? If only he’d asked him when he had the chance. Akechi’s face flashed in his mind, looking down at him from the Monacopter with the softest look he’d ever seen Akechi wear, and it had been at that moment that Akira was _absolutely certain_ he’d made the right decision. Even if it meant Akechi wasn’t here anymore. Even if it meant Akira was forced to listen in silence to Ann chirp that they’re ‘only missing one more person’ and Ryuji cheer ‘now that’s everyone!’ when it was very clearly _not_ everyone, they couldn’t have forgotten about Akechi in the _two damn weeks_ he’d been absent! He knew, objectively, that he was just putting too much weight on a throwaway line, that his friends hadn’t _meant_ anything by it. But it still stung to realise he was the only one actively affected by Akechi’s... disappearance. Maybe it was because he refused to believe Akechi was dead, Akechi _must_ be out there, _somewhere_ , the glove was a _promise_ between them and if Akechi betrayed their promise he’d-  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
Akira put the letter down sharpish. Morgana looked at him quizzically, head cocked slightly. He could hear Akechi’s tentative request in his head – ‘ _Read it when we return to the true reality. And... by yourself._ ’.  
  
“A list of... things,” he lied lamely. “Things that... things that Sojiro wants me to do.”  
  
Better than nothing. It wasn’t as if Morgana could fact-check with Sojiro, anyway.  
  
“Really?! Boss works you hard, huh?”  
  
Akira breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s all good, I’ll take Sojiro’s chores over prison any day.”  
  
“Man, you really need a break,” Morgana replied ruefully. Akira just scratched behind his ears in response, and crawled into bed with Morgana’s soft warmth by his side.

* * *

An hour later, when he was sure Morgana was asleep, he crept out of bed, picked up the letter, and headed downstairs. He made himself Akechi’s favourite blend – along with plenty of milk and sugar the way Akechi liked it - sat in Akechi’s favourite chair, and with slightly-trembling hands he opened the envelope. Three pages of somewhat-splotched A4 paper were within, all with Akechi’s neat handwriting on both sides in rich black ink. Akira sifted through them at a glance, and saw that his handwriting definitely became scruffier as the letter went on. His neat handwriting was likely just an act, then. Akira found his scruffy handwriting pretty too, though. It was Akechi’s, of _course_ it was pretty.  
  
The pages in his hands felt sacred. Proof that Goro Akechi had lived and breathed and felt.  
  
He took a sip of his coffee, and started reading.

* * *

_Dear Akira,_  
  
_So. If you’re reading this, you rejected Maruki’s reality. I knew you would._  
  
_Also, I suppose I’m dead._  
  
_It’s strange, knowing that after tomorrow I’ll cease to exist. I see the snow outside and it’s strange to know this will be the last snowfall I see. Snow’s quite pretty, isn’t it? I’m looking out of my window and it’s a veritable urban winter wonderland. Do you like snowball fights, Akira? I have to imagine you do. I never had one myself, but I think they’d be fun. I’d like to have had a snowball fight with you – I wonder who would’ve won? If it were anyone else I’d say I’d have a definite victory, but you? You challenge me in the exact way I’ve always craved._  
  
_Anyway. I didn’t write this to talk about the weather._  
  
_You rejected Maruki’s reality. Or, well, will have done by the time you read this. Are you in juvie? I realise my death would mean I can’t take your place. I apologise for the inconvenience. You shouldn’t be in juvie. You’re a good man (if you reject this reality, that is. I’m certain you will, but if you surprise me in the worst way possible I will tear up this letter and throw it into the fire along with any positive feelings I dared to have about you)._  
  
_But anyway. If you are in juvie, I hope they come to their senses and release you. The system’s fucked and the cops are fuckers and the conspiracy is made up of shithead fuckers and I’m aware this may not sound very hopeful but you have ways of surprising me, I wouldn’t be surprised if you managed to overcome even that shitshow._  
  
_Hm. Is it paradoxical that I wouldn’t be surprised by you surprising me? If I’m not surprised then the event wouldn’t BE a surprise by definition, but I am surprised, every single time. But I expect the surprise._  
  
_Trust you to make me think in circles on my last day of living. Asshole._  
  
_Moving on, I should probably address the reason for this letter, hm?_  
  
_Right._  
  
_My hand is shaking._  
  
_...I suppose it doesn’t matter if you know that information. I’ll be dead by the time you read this, after all. Dead men don’t feel the ramifications of their actions._  
  
_God. Why is it such a fucking struggle to write things down on a fucking piece of paper? I know I’m beyond repair in the emotional department, but fucking hell, really?_  
  
_Look, I’m writing this letter for a reason. I need to stop dancing around the goddamn issue. I’ll just come out and say it, and we can go from there._  
  
_I have feelings for you._  
  
_Fucking hell, I just went on an emotional rollercoaster and I had to take a shower to calm down. A shower, Akira. Goddamn it, it’s just that it just hit me I’m dying. It felt like a sack of bricks had been dropped into my stomach. Tomorrow’s the last day I’ll ever see you and it fucking hurts. I miss you already and I’m not even dead, how pathetic is that? You made me want to live and I hate you for it. You made me want to take care of myself, to actually FIX this shitshow inside my head, and now my days with you are numbered. The death knell is so fucking loud but for the first time I don’t actually want to surrender myself to its call. I want to live and it’s because of you._  
  
_Truthfully, I don’t know when it happened. Maybe at the TV station and it was just some kind of instant attraction because a pretty boy contradicted me on live television and apparently I think that’s attractive. Maybe after you figured out I was using my right hand in billiards and it was clear that you’re like me, hiding something sharp and maybe a little untamed. Or maybe after our café outing, where you messed up my hair and I spent the rest of the night wondering why I wanted you to do it again (god why am I telling you this... realising you’re dead really makes you do reckless shit, it seems)._  
  
_I just know that I only realised it a second before I separated us in the engine room._  
  
_Do you know how weird of a feeling it is to look the one you like straight in the eye and get hit with the sudden realisation that they mean the world to you? If you do, it’s even weirder to feel that and then immediately feel the crushing realisation that you’ll never see them again._  
  
_It means a lot to me that you kept our promise regarding Shido. I know I’ve said it before, but I don’t think the others... took me seriously. That, or they just don’t like me much. I’m willing to bet the latter. No hard feelings. But I was speaking more to you when I said that, so I’ll reiterate it here – thank you for keeping our promise. I understand you would have been doing it for yourself as well, but if my assessment of you is correct – and I’m certain it is – then you did it for me as much as yourself. So, thank you. And... thank you for what you said about the glove. It was genuinely touching to know you remembered._  
  
_Too bad we couldn’t have that rematch, huh?_  
  
_So... yeah. I like you. It sounds juvenile, but I really, really like you._  
  
_I don’t know whether I want you to feel the same way, though._  
  
_The selfish part of me wants it. God, every nerve in my body screams at the thought of you ~~loving~~ liking someone else. Do you like Yoshizawa? I once felt you did. Or at least, that she did. Back at the café when I approached the two of you, do you remember? I’d like to say I’m sorry for how I acted, but honestly I’m not. It was funny, can you blame me?_  
  
_I just... the thought of you with someone else makes me want to scream and/or kick something. But that’s the selfish side of me. The other side, the side I dug up from where I buried it, hopes you don’t like me. It’ll be easier if you don’t. It’ll be easier if you do like Yoshizawa, or Okumura, or literally anyone else apart from me. If you feel the same way as I feel about you... I loathe saying it, but losing you would break me. (I know I lost you after Sae’s Palace but that was different – you weren’t ripped from me, I cut you off myself. I broke in a different kind of way.)_  
  
_...If my deductions are correct, though, you feel the same way._  
  
_There’s a reason I asked you to open this letter after you return to reality. I hope you listened to me. I think you will have. You might be a little wild and rebellious but I know you’d heed a dead man’s last wishes. You did it before, after all. But yes, the reason I asked you to wait to open it was that I think you like me back, but I don’t want any of this to hinder your judgement tomorrow. You don’t need any unnecessary feelings for a corpse weighing you down. I want you to go back to reality with no regrets, I want you to live with purpose and conviction and happiness and that unflinching belief in your justice I ~~love~~ value so much._  
  
_I want you to move on with your life, Akira. ‘No more what ifs’, remember?_  
  
_Though, if I’m being honest (this whole letter has been me making up for all the lies I’ve ever told with far too much honesty for my own good, really), the only ‘what if’ scenarios I ever allowed myself to entertain were those concerning you. What if we’d met a few years earlier? What if I’d realised my feelings sooner? What if I’d defied Shido’s orders to kill you? What if I’d taken the plunge and kissed you?_  
  
_~~... I’d really like to kiss you.~~ _  
  
_I have one more request, though._  
  
_Please move on with your life, ~~but don’t forget me.~~_  
  
_That’s it._  
  
_Move on._  
  
_God, I’m sorry. I’m fucking crying. Ignore the splotch marks I don’t have the energy nor the time to rewrite all this._  
  
_I’ve lived my entire life with purpose. Usually, that was survival. Survival with my mother, survival in foster care, survival in institutions, survival under Shido’s thumb. Somewhere down the line my purpose shifted from survival to revenge. Revenge, survival... this is the first time I’ve lived to die. What are you supposed to feel in that situation? Under Shido I never expected to live beyond twenty, but my untimely death was never something I actively worked for. Here I’m actively working for a world in which I’m dead. And I feel hopeless, because for the first time in my life I actually want to live beyond twenty. And now I’m striving for a reality where I never even turned nineteen._  
  
_It’s kind of fucked up, isn’t it? Still, I’d rather die at eighteen than surrender my agency again. Sacrificing myself for you all (although let’s be real, I know you love your friends but most of my motivation then was for you) was the first act I did upon cutting my puppet strings, and if it’s the last act I ever did, so be it. At least it was an act committed by a free man._  
  
_How do you mourn yourself, Akira?_  
  
_I just... think of the life I could’ve led with you. As rivals, as lovers, whatever. We could have celebrated my graduation at the Jazz Jin, or taken walks around Inokashira Park. Have you ever been on the boats? I’ve heard they’re quite romantic. I’ve never been on them myself. And we could’ve gone to the aquarium again, perhaps without pesky reporters interrupting us. You know, I knew it was a popular date spot back when I invited you. I somehow managed to convince myself that hadn’t had an impact on my decision to actually invite you instead of just abandoning the tickets._  
  
_God, Akira. I’m loath to admit it but I’ve fallen so hard for you. If you don’t return the feelings then please don’t recoil at my affections – I’m dead, after all. Respect the dead, Akira._  
  
_So... yeah. That’s essentially all I wanted you to know._  
  
_It all feels so... hollow. When we’re in the Metaverse I’m fine. When I’m with you I’m fine. But right now, alone in my tiny apartment I never bothered to turn into a real home? I feel empty. Is this because I’m a product of Maruki’s abilities? Or because I’m just like that, utterly fucked up?_  
  
_Sorry. Apparently it’s easier to spill my thoughts on paper. Took me a bit of time to get into the swing of it, it seems._  
  
_Before I finish this letter, I’d just like to say that if my deductions are correct, then I am a product of your wishes, your deepest desires. And... thank you. For holding me in such high regard, so close to your heart. Don’t misunderstand – this world sucks and I despise it to my very core, but to know that your heart’s desire was to have me back with you is... something. You know all I ever wanted was to be needed and loved. Knowing that there’s someone out there who feels that way about me, and knowing that it’s YOU who does..._  
  
_I fucking love you, Akira._  
  
_I don’t know whether it’s love. I haven’t felt it or received it in such a long time that I’ve forgotten how to identify it. But if love is feeling such a strong sense of home and belonging when you’re with the other person, and wanting to spend the rest of your days with them, and wanting them to be the last thing you see before you die, then... I love you. I love you so much. I hate that when you read this I’ll be dead. I want you to read it tonight. Then maybe we could hug. Or hold hands. Or kiss. Or we could just lie down together and fall asleep in each other’s arms. Or maybe all four._  
  
_I won’t let you read it tonight, though. Neither of us needs that kind of complication. We just need to focus on defeating Maruki and getting the fuck out of this hellhole._  
  
_That’s... it, I guess. It’s nearly time for Maruki to make contact – I’ve decided to eavesdrop. I don’t trust him. I do wish we could’ve spent the day together, but no matter. You’ve asked me to the Jazz Jin and Penguin Sniper more times than I can count, and although I act otherwise... truthfully, I’ve loved every single outing. I love spending time with you, Akira. I once said I have no time for dating. Which was true. But I always made space in my timetable for you._  
  
_Well... goodbye, Akira. Live your life. Enjoy it. Whatever. I wonder what you’ll study at college? Psychology? Sounds like a subject for you. If you like, you can theorise about what I’d study. I have no idea, myself. I took the entrance exams but I never thought I’d survive long enough to attend. And look, I was right._  
  
_I mean it, though. Enjoy your life. You’ve fought damn hard for it._  
  
_Goodbye, Akira._  
  
_Love,_  
  
_Goro_

* * *

He didn’t know how long he was sat there.  
  
Fierce snowstorms blustered outside but he couldn’t hear any of it, too focused on the words in his hands, entranced by them like they were holy scripture.  
  
Akechi.  
  
No.  
  
_Goro_.  
  
Goro loved him. Goro loved him. Goro loved him and Goro was gone.  
  
_Move on._  
  
_How am I supposed to do that, Goro?_  
  
His vision went blurry. A splotch fell onto the paper. Akira pulled his head back. He didn’t have the energy to wipe away his own tears.  
  
They’d made a promise. A _promise_. A promise to have a rematch, to reunite, to not leave the other fucking _alone_ and mourning and with a deafening sadness that threatened to engulf him.  
  
_Enjoy your life._  
  
How was he supposed to _enjoy his life_ when the one he loved was – no. He _couldn’t_ think like that. They’d made a promise and he had to _believe_ in Goro, believe that he wouldn’t back out and leave him waiting alone in the dust. Goro _had_ to be out there somewhere.  
  
Akira wouldn’t stop believing in him, no matter what. He’d never lost faith in Goro, not once. He was Akira’s shining light and if Goro wanted him to enjoy his life then he would, he’d enjoy his life and then when he’d meet Goro again – because he _would_ – he’d tell Goro all about it.

He’d hold onto Goro’s glove.

Onto their promise.

**Author's Note:**

> I have ten million WIPs I'm just glad I finished this one pretty quickly that's a surprise
> 
> Anyway yes comments are appreciated ;w;


End file.
